


marionettes

by chanshine



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anarchy, Angst, Arson, Battle, Betrayal, Boys Kissing, Conflict, Enemies, Enemy Lovers, Established Relationship, Explosions, Insanity, Internal Conflict, Kings & Queens, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Polyamory, Rebellion, Revolution, Swordfighting, Swords, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanshine/pseuds/chanshine
Summary: “that doesn’t matter now.” yangyang unsheathes his weapon, raising it against a boy he had once loved. “the war rages on regardless, and as far as i’m concerned we’re still enemies.”“and maybe we wouldn’t be had you just shut your own damn mouth.”
Relationships: Liu Yang Yang/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery, Liu Yang Yang/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun, Liu Yang Yang/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun, Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	marionettes

the symphony of battle cries came to an abrupt stop at the sight of tattered and dirtied white fabric frantically being waved in the hazy air. all eyes linger on the sight of the flag blowing in the harsh tailwinds. it’s something no one ever expected to see, not even dreamt of in the months spent just barely inching forward until the adversary’s backs were finally pushed to the stone walls of the capital’s palace. behind them, a trail of blood and destruction marks their path to victory. necessary sacrifices are always the most painful ones. some are in a state of shock, some have already started crying, and others have begun to rejoice. the fighting dies down as the representative from each battling side approach each other slowly, tentatively.

yangyang looks up through his messy black bangs, nervousness seeping through every pore as he remains witness to the discussions of reparations. like the ceasefire, time seems to stand still as allies and enemies alike sit with bated breaths while awaiting mediation. the nation had rightfully lost, yet raising the white flag gave hopes of salvaging at least a scrap of what would’ve otherwise been ripped away. all they can do is give in to the rebels’ demands, give in to the demands of monetary compensations, military restrictions and… the passing of the throne.

his heart drops down to his stomach. he really should’ve seen it coming, it’s what they were trying so hard to defend in the first place because it’s the one thing everyone else covets. he had lost so much only for it to be taken away, he had given away his everything only to fail in the end. maybe he’d be happier if he didn’t leave. maybe they’d be happier if they never even took a sip from the poison of war in the first place.

explosions shatter the fragile exordium of peace. he shouldn’t be relieved at the crumbling rubble and the cacophony of screams, but he is. smoke curls into the heavens as the fighting resumes, halberds strike against glaives and spears alike. in the turmoil of the reawakening battlefield, yangyang scans the carnage for the familiar mop of silver hair slipping away into the deserted palace. he takes pursuit, rushing to catch up to what he had lost.

through the grandeur of the winding hallways, yangyang pays no heed to the situation outside. he drowns out the intrusive noise so that all he can hear are clumsy footsteps padding through the carpeted floor hastily and his own light and nimble ones. the world melts around them, like it always did whenever they were alone. the boy in front of him steps into the throne room and he chases through diligently. just like that, in his mind whatever stood beyond those closed massive mahogany doors were no more. the only thing yangyang can perceive is how the other walks up to the throne, hesitantly picking up the crown of solid gold that had been left in the rush for the king to evacuate. the way he was so fixated and enamoured by the headpiece… it makes yangyang reminisce to simpler times for a brief second.

“dejun.” yangyang can visibly see him freeze in place, hand creeping toward the hilt of his sword as he turns slowly to face him. he never changed, always so open to everyone. always so trusting, always so oblivious to the metaphorical spears aimed at his back. maybe that’s what made it so easy yet difficult at the same time. “what do you think you’re doing?”

“reclaiming what was once ours, and what was given back.” he grips the crown tighter, knuckles whitening as if that protected the title instead of a piece of metal. it’s foolish, but perhaps to a passionate rebel even the crumbs of physical manifestations of power were important.

“no treaty has been signed. as long as the tides of battle crash against the shore, the throne is rightfully ours.” yangyang was curt in his replies lest he refrain from holding his tongue from spilling the thousand essays worth of words he wanted to say. those held little meaning now anyway, the damage was done and far beyond repair. whatever apology or explanation he muttered was pointless in the face of his actions.

“maybe something would’ve been signed had you not gone against your own white flag.” dejun scoffs, tone accusatory. buried memories are forcefully unearthed and flash through his mind briefly. it’s unpleasant, but it’s what he deserves honestly.

“we would never. we raised it ourselves as we were already on the brink of total defeat. why would we ruin our chances at the more favorable middle ground?”

“then who else would’ve? surely you don’t mean to tell me we’d damage our own arsenal.” he pauses. dejun has a point, at the very least. if there was little reason for them to go against the universal symbol of surrender, then there was even littler reason for the rebels to falsify an attack on the very people they were fighting to protect.

“that doesn’t matter now.” yangyang unsheathes his weapon, raising it against a boy he had once loved. if he knew this is where he would be standing months after joining the empire, he wouldn’t even have considered it. and now that he’s here, there’s no turning back. “the war rages on regardless, and as far as i’m concerned we’re still enemies.”

“and maybe we wouldn’t be had you just shut your own damn mouth.”

the sound of swords clashing against each other fills the otherwise eerie silence; it echoes, not just in their hollow hearts but also the empty space of the abandoned room. it’s the same song and dance: yangyang taunts dejun into attacking, gets overwhelmed by his sheer force, dejun gets cocky and taunts him back only to be very nearly caught off guard by yangyang’s retaliation. it’s a pattern of provocation and biting back, of teasing and riposte. it’s a pattern they’ve always followed, down to the rapture of love and now to the paroxysms of combat. they’ve never really changed, never really moved past their stubborn selves butting heads at every turn except now the scales were adjusted and the stakes are high risk. it doesn’t come at a surprise either when they still match in aptitude and skill, easily keeping up with each other’s antics until they reach the brink of exhaustion. at a standstill, they remain in place with their blades crossed.

just a summer ago, what they had crossed were their hearts in the promise to stay together for eternity. time passed them by so quickly and just the thought of it leaves a certain bitterness in his mouth, notable even through the metallic taste of blood.

distant footsteps disrupts the palpable tension in the air. from behind a tall pillar, a familiar face emerges. kunhang, in all his unscathed glory, greets them with a smile so saccharine it’s almost sickening. it’s not unlike the smile had greeted them when they arrive back home in their shared abode, not unlike the smile that had greeted them when they woke up in the morning with tangled limbs and intertwined fingers. something about seeing it right here, right now is heart wrenching. it’s almost poetic, if the poetry was a perversion of untainted connections.

eyes unreadable behind their mask of serenity, kunhang moves slow and deliberate. drawing their attention to his minuscule movements, he opens his clenched fist to scatter something on the floor and crushes the resulting pile under his heel so that the gunpowder swirls around like dust. in that moment, the picture the suspended particles paint is crystal clear.

“you betrayed me.” dejun gasps out, halting in his movements and nearly accidentally dropping his sword. yangyang is too in shock to take advantage of his lowered guard. kunhang had been so adamant on staying away from the empire up until this point, there was absolutely no reason to turn his back on his supposed side at the last second when they’ve nearly won. “you betrayed us.”

“what i betrayed was the idea of government.” kunhang’s smile doesn’t falter, doesn’t widen or fade and somehow that’s scarier. he treads forward slowly, like a predator that knew it had already won its prey. he’s so calm and there’s something so sinister about that, like everything he does is oh so carefully constructed and planned even down to each step. “you think changing the king is going to solve your problems? monarchy _is_ the problem dejun, don’t you see?”

“you’re a traitor, kunhang, down to the bone.” tears fill dejun’s eyes and yangyang finds that the diamonds rolling down his angrily flushed cheeks are more valuable than anything the empire could offer. it’s almost unbelievable how he found it in himself to leave when he had his most valuable treasures right in his heart, but the premise on power is like a drug that intoxicates you to no end. and like an alcoholic with withdrawal symptoms, he searched for even the slightest hint of the substance.

“it’s not treason if i’ve never been on any side in the first place.” kunhang’s ice cold statement cuts through his train of thought easily, and something about that makes his blood boil despite the frigid indifference.

“you’re more indecisive than anything.” yangyang spat, eyes that had used to gaze upon him with love now filled with pure distaste. it’s so ironic; everything is so ironic and fate works in interesting ways, like how they managed to strip the roses of their love of everything but their thorns. “you went against the nation for the rebellion and yet now you’re the only thing holding them back from victory.”

“except chaos is where my loyalty lies.” and in that moment, the fog around his character clears. he was never tergiversating, never teetering the line between the two sides in his hesitance. he had been stagnant, rooted in his mad beliefs and that’s what made him seem so erratic. he was never on anyone’s side, he had just wanted to make himself the winner in his own twisted narrative. he was like a wild card that served solely its own interests. it makes so much sense… and yet yangyang still finds it in himself to deny it.

“stop playing games, kunhang.” he steps forward and points his blade towards him, raising it against a boy he had once loved for a second time. that’s strange. were his hands always trembling like this? “this isn’t meant to be some form of entertainment.”

“oh yangyang. my pure, sweet yangyang. the only game anyone is playing is mine.”

like a puppet on a string, yangyang was so very easily yanked forward into his arms. and like a puppet without anyone holding his strings, he falls limp in the sin of love once again. it’s so very comforting. it’s what he just realized he had wanted all along. he lets himself be swayed in the dance of tongues, he cares not about if it’s too rough or if he can barely breathe. this was the reprieve from his indecision, the comfort for his regrets, the promise of a new beginning. he can barely even think anymore, even as kunhang eventually breaks the long awaited kiss and seeks for a reaction to gauge.

dejun looks almost terrified at the sight that would’ve warmed his heart just a few months ago. he looks away, not daring to stare back into those piercing eyes that had seemed almost unblinking.

“aw, is my little dejun jealous? i could give him a kiss too, like old times.” his tone has an underlying threat behind it, but he can barely even think about that when he has only one question.

_why was kunhang’s smile still the exact same, never changing in the past few minutes of confrontation?_

“no, i just… want to know why you’ve worked so hard with us only to rip it all away.” dejun swallows the lump in his throat. this was a stranger in front of him with the face of his beloved. this was someone else entirely, because there’s no way this was the same kunhang who was always so caring and considerate.

“i only worked to wreak havoc. at the threat of a resolution, it only makes sense i’d stir up more trouble.”

“but… but why?”

“because it’s riveting! you and yangyang have taught me that conflict is such an interesting concept. it’s so very fun to watch, so very fun to cause. we’re no different, dejun. i seek the same power, the same title as king only that i decide to use it for other means. when i become king, my first order will be to abolish the title. i need no do more, because humans are so easily driven to fight for semblance of control in a world where there is none. humans at their core are greedy opportunists and with this they will destroy themselves without me needing to lift another finger. i simply need to sit back and watch as the world burns at my hand. destruction is absolute, but wondering about how exactly it’ll all go down… isn’t that much more exciting?”

perhaps kunhang had gone insane. perhaps something finally cracked inside. perhaps the internal conflict of being forced to choose between the two he loved the most had caused a thread to snap, and in his efforts to rebuild himself he had woven an entirely new person. a person broken down at the core is always so very scary to look at; the deconstruction of their stability into an impulsive mess is always a cold dose of reality. the human mind isn’t so fragile, but if it keeps being chipped away at then eventually it’s just going to shatter into a million pieces. sometimes it doesn’t even take that long of a descent into insanity, sometimes all it takes is one blow to leave the human mind to crumble. whichever one it was, it had taken over kunhang completely from the inside out.

“i… i cant understand how anyone could think like that.” he breathes out, shuddering. he really doesn’t know what to do, he feels so lost in the fact of this… monstrosity that had become of his lover. for some reason this seems to strike a chord somewhere deep inside kunhang, because he pauses as his next word comes out in a barely audible whisper.

“you’re using so, so many words. but the thing about this world, darling, is that the only universal language is violence.”

the sudden resounding _clang_ of his own sword being smacked out of his hand and landing on the floor makes dejun flinch, the loud noise ringing in his eardrums. on the contrary, kunhang remains unfazed. again, he doesn’t falter in anything he does like he’s a creeping inevitability akin to the likes of death and demise. he continues to speak through the creeping fear plaguing dejun’s mind.

“… and love, of course.”

a hand reaches out to cup dejun’s cheek, the lingering aroma of gunpowder permeating through the sensation of long craved affection. it’s a gesture laced with as much love as the poison of temptation, and it should be concerning just how willing he is to down it all like a naïve medieval forager to deadly nightshade.

“now then, which one shall we speak?”

dejun answers with compliance. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move away from the searing warmth of lips on his. he’s too scared to, but maybe he lies to himself a little too much because he doesn’t exactly hate it. he loves it far too much even when he knows just how truly mad kunhang is. maybe he’s just tired of fighting, but he finds himself falling back into old habits. he finds himself throwing his arms around kunhang’s neck and arching his back ever so slightly into his chest like he had thousands of times before.

it’s a hard fact to accept, but by the way this kunhang had responded by snaking his arms around his waist like the thousands of times before meant this was the real one. before long he had been lightly pushed away too, left to think about what he had just done.

meanwhile, kunhang prances around the room like it’s his. he dances around like he’s imagining it’s the choreography to his musical number of decimation. he hums a tune like he’s imagining it’s the background music to his screenplay of the real world. he mutters incoherently like he’s imagining it’s the script to his eventual masterpiece.

like a puppet master, he revels in the control he has over the storyline. he marvels at the way he pulls his puppets so precisely so as to bring them exactly where he wanted them to be. he indulges himself in tangling the strings to create a beautifully tangled narrative. he wants nothing more than to see how his characters respond, how they stand in the face of countless obstacles being forced against them and how they will survive. if they fall, he wants to see just exactly how they do so and how long it takes. the excessive voyeurism to suffering is just pushing the boundary of sadism at this point.

eventually he stops in front of the throne, scrutinizing it.

the throne room, being crowned king… it’s funny how those don’t hold any real substance to him anymore. it’s just a room with a fancy chair. it’s just a piece of metal with engraved gems. it’s so fucking stupid how much blood was shed for such a shoddy thing. and like the king he truly saw himself to be, he sees it fit to destroy the abomination that doesn’t even have the right to be in his field of vision like this. without a hint of remorse he walks over to a curtain billowing over an open window and throws the offending piece of metal harshly against the wall next to it, denting it just like his damaged mind. he pulls out a small bottle of oil and douses the fabric before taking a box of matches.

out of curiosity he looks behind him, relishing the way yangyang was almost hypnotized by his charm while dejun was just too terrified to even move to stop him. the consequent spark lights up his unreadable eyes, painting the edges of his brown hair with an orange light in a foreshadowing of the color about to paint the room. just as he drops the lit match, he gives them nothing more than one painfully long, subtly sinister _smile._

“come, my marionettes. it’s almost time for the second act.”

**Author's Note:**

> again this really was meant to be a short drabble of hendery as a puppet master buT WHOOPS sjdfhsjkf at least i contribute to xiaohenyang nation once again (someday it will be in the form of fluff again i swear)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/SH10NSHINE)  
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